Less than 24 hours before I started writing this, I saw Mel Daniels. In a scene so familiar, I can’t remember whether it happened before or after the game, the most important big man in Indiana Pacers history stood in the media room chatting with local reporter Conrad Brunner.
Over the past four years, I witnessed that tableau dozens of times. Mel’s regular presence in the media room had allowed me to largely suppress — but not erase — the “HOLY SHIT, that’s Mel Daniels” hindbrain reaction that arose whenever I saw him. The element of surprise was gone, and Mel Daniels sightings were largely expected.
I didn’t know Daniels. He didn’t know me. We had said, “Hi,” in passing, but we had never exchanged more than a few words. As I walked around his conversation with Bruno last night, I felt a pang of regret about not taking advantage of the opportunities I’d had to establish even the most platonic of relationships with someone who had meant so much to the Pacers franchise.
Mel Daniels was an MVP, a champion and a Hall of Famer. I could enumerate his accomplishments on the basketball court, but I think today I’ll just tell you he was fucking awesome, and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.
After four years of walking around the halls inside The Fieldhouse, I thought I had earned the chance to strike up those conversations with the likes of Mel, Darnell Hillman, and Slick Leornard. There was so much to learn from them, but there was also plenty of time. These guys are always around the team.
“Plenty” isn’t what it used to be.
With the news of Mel Daniels passing today, all of those future opportunities evaporated, while all of those missed opportunities came to sit on my chest. But, that is a tiny tragedy: a regret, a triviality.
The real pain is felt by the people who really knew him, namely his wife, CeCe, and his family. By his friend of more than 40 years, Bob Netolicky. By Brunner, who could not possibly know that last night was to be truly the last night. By anyone with whom Mel Daniels shared some or all of his 71 well-lived years on this planet in personal relationships.
The rest of us who follow the Pacers are largely left on our own to understand this loss. For old-time Pacer fans, Mel Daniels was a legendary stranger who we treated as a friend — as family, even. For younger generations of Pacer fans, Daniels is a name and number on a banner. Regardless, we have all lost a little something today.
Mel Daniels was an MVP, a champion and a Hall of Famer. I could enumerate his accomplishments on the basketball court, but I think today I’ll just tell you he was fucking awesome, and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.
But, far more important than that, Mel Daniels was an indispensible member of a group of men who created something special in Indiana.
I’m not talking about the ABA banners or the retired numbers. I’m talking about the entire existence of this franchise. Everything good in Blue and Gold traces back to Mel Daniels. And Slick Leonard. And Roger Brown. And Freddie Lewis, George McGinnis, Billy Keller, and Darnell Hillman.
These are the bedrock upon whom every success was built. The ABA days and players were the beacon in the darkest days of the franchise. Paul George is the grandson of Roger Brown. Dale Davis, Antonio Davis, and David West are the direct descendants of Mel Daniels.
Maybe, last night, we all watched the first steps of Myles Turner becoming the next in that line.
Maybe we didn’t really lose anything today. Maybe Mel Daniels will always be with us in the best of who the Pacers are, and who we are as fans.
Mel Daniels is dead. Long live Mel Daniels.